My Luck (Twisted Luck Book 1) Read online

  "Cori!" Samuel all but shouted and I jumped, looking at him, my heart racing.

  "What?"

  He shook his head at me, trying to give me the "I'm disappointed in you" look that Laurel did so well, but he didn't have the age to pull it off. "I've been asking you a question."

  "Sorry, was lost in my head. Thinking about that guy."

  "Don't. He isn't your issue." He said it like that should be enough to shut my mind off.

  I shot him a glance, but didn't argue; what good would it do? "What was the question?"

  "Did you notice anything else weird as you walked? Any cars or anything else?"

  "Besides the cat and squirrel running up and over me?" I watched him out of the corner of my eye and saw his mouth twitch a little.

  "Besides that."

  I closed my eyes and thought, but I really had been oblivious to most everything. My thoughts were stressing over graduating, finding a job, and getting the hell out of this town. But that meant leaving Jo and her family. That thought made me want to cry.

  "I wasn't paying attention really. The cat was white, so it caught my eye and I stopped to watch. The rest of the time I was more focused on my own thoughts." I hated admitting I couldn't provide a clue, that I didn't have any information to give him.

  "With your luck that's a bit dangerous, isn't it?" The smirk was back. I ignored it. Just because he'd known me as a little kid didn't mean I had to put up with him being a jerk. I felt myself flush with annoyance but pushed it away.

  "Let me out up here. I'll slip in the back. They're already open and probably slammed."

  Samuel nodded and turned to go up the back alley when there was a bang and the car shook. I froze, hand on the dashboard as I quickly scanned for bullets or another car or something. A beeping came from the console and Samuel started to cuss softly.

  "I swear to the Merlins, Cori. Something always goes wacky and I'm not always positive you had nothing to do with it." He pointed accusingly at the light flashing on his dash. I leaned over and peered and it and fought a smirk.

  "That's what you get for being a jerk. Have fun changing your tire." This time there was a smile on my face as I chirped my goodbye at him and opened the door. I ignored his muttered response, shutting the door and looking at the very flat front passenger tire. At least it had waited until I was almost at work.

  I headed down the alley to find the back door wedged open, probably for the deliveries. With a tug I pulled it wide and headed into the already busy shop. I glanced at my watch; only forty minutes late. The big rush would just be starting. Darting to the back I washed my hands and face, stopping for a moment to look at the image of me in a mirror. Did it look like I'd seen another dead body?

  Please, like that is anything unusual. Get to work before Molly kills you.

  I bent over at the waist and spent a minute running my fingers through my short hair briskly, trying to shake out the ever-present dandruff. It was annoying. No shampoo would cure it, it was always bright white, and it was so fine it almost looked like dust. With a shake of my head, the short strands flying back into place, I turned and stepped into the hustle while mentally asking for nothing else weird to happen today. Not that I was ever that lucky.

  Kadia was cranking up drinks, chattering with customers and flashing her trademark grin. She loved showing off her mage status through jewelry or clothes. When she emerged, two candles bursting into flames and a rush of dizziness had been the only indicators. But she'd rushed in to be tested, coming back with a Fire hedgemage status. It didn't seem to upset her she was so low. It meant she'd never need matches if she wanted to smoke and could warm up her coffee if it got cold. But there was no draft, no mandatory college for anyone lower than wizard ranking. Kadia being Kadia, just said it would help her be a great chef. She'd be graduating from her culinary classes this summer, and already had a job lined up.

  In stark contrast to Kadia's grace, Molly struggled to handle the register and socialize with the people waiting for her. Molly Carter was a great boss and a good businesswoman, but a deplorable counter person. She could juggle the business stuff in the quiet of her office on her computer, but having people rattling off orders at her, paying in multiple ways, and trying to fill the easy drinks in between made her panic and become even more stressed. I'd always thought a customer-centric business was a weird choice for someone with social anxiety.

  "Here, I've got it," I said stepping in behind her. I liked this job. By the end of the first month I had figured out how to troubleshoot the equipment and fix it if needed. We kept extra cleaning supplies for all the weird accidents that happened. Molly had kept me employed almost full time for three years now without any complaints. Best part is she rolled with all my schedule changes. In return, I worked my ass off for her, looking for anything I could do to make the shop and our lives better.

  "Thank Merlin. All yours." Molly stepped back with a relieved look on her face. "You okay?"

  I smiled at the customer and nodded. "Yep, just the usual."

  "Only you, Cori. I'll be in back. Don't need me. This morning has peopled me out." Molly babbled as she backed out and all but ran to the back office.

  Trying not laugh, I turned to the waiting customer and took their order. Kadia and I meshed well, switching between the register and pulling drinks. The day went well until a double ring of the bell after the morning rush caught my attention. Looking at the door, I sighed as Shay stood there glaring at me.

  O'Shaughnessy Sato had copper red hair, Asian features, a lean body, and chin length hair. Together they created an exotic picture of a man and a first-rate pain in my ass. Then there was the merlin tattoo that gleamed on the side of his face. It almost touched his right eye in swirls of red and yellow, triple symbols proof he was a Chaos merlin strong in Earth and Time.

  Sally was a Pattern wizard, pale in Transform and Earth. Which meant she couldn't use Air magic at all. But merlins were different. Powerful. Scary. Stories and movies revolved around them, as the heroes or the villains in everything.

  Me? The only merlin I knew was a confusing jerk. Shay? His skill sets were obvious via the tattoo on his face, marking him. I always thought it was weird a merlin would live here of all places.

  Why do I always get Shay on my shift? Why?

  He felt the same as he stalked towards me, the last customer turning away as he got to the counter. "Why are you here?" he demanded, glaring at me as if I'd caused him some personal affront.

  "Because I work here? I have for the last three years. Something you should know as you see me every time I'm at work."

  "You were not on the schedule. I checked. Three times!" He all but shouted.

  "Lori called out. I said I'd cover as school hasn't started up. I'm working a double today." Normally on Wednesdays I only worked from noon until four, but hey, extra money.

  Shay glared at me and I glared back. The other nice thing about small towns was, if you were a jerk to someone who deserved it, no one complained to your manager. Or if they did, the manager laughed. Molly had, multiple times. The best one had been when she told a customer, "If Cori dumps a hot coffee on your head, I'm going to laugh and say you deserved it."

  But Shay never crossed that line. Our altercations were always verbal and I had no idea why he found my existence such an affront. Part of me wanted to figure out why, quiz and assail him with questions, but after three years I mostly wanted him to quit being a butt.

  Shay huffed. "Damn probability factors. Just because all the threads point to convergence in your presence doesn't mean I want to be there when it happens. Maybe I should give up coffee."

  He didn't seem to be talking to me, but I answered anyhow. "There's a Waffle House down the street. Feel free to get your fix there."

  Shay wrinkled his nose. "Not even probability convergence is worth their coffee. Double espresso almond milk chaser." He tossed the money at me and stalked over to the other side of the counter where Kadia already had his order waiting. Sha
y was predictable, but he also tipped well. I dumped the two dollars into the tip jar and put on a smile as another person came up.

  Three hours later my feet were sore; it had been a busy day. The lull before lunch had occurred and the only people still in the shop were a pair of retired teachers who met twice a week for a social hour. They were so cute and fragile I always made sure Kadia served them. If my crazy attacked while I was serving them and they got hurt, I'd never forgive myself.

  Kadia yawned. "That was quite the morning. But now that it's calmed down a bit – tell me what happened?"

  I shrugged. People thought it was neat finding a dead body. When the first one shatters you, the rest quickly become annoying. More people needed to die at home quietly in their beds.

  "Just a dead guy. Business suit."

  "Ewww," she squealed shaking her head, causing her long braids with beads on the end to clack. But her avid eyes told me she was fascinated. I wasn't, but this was a conversation I had with way too many people every time something happened. "So how did he die?"

  "Don't know. They yell at me if I say anything about cause of death." I dropped my voice, not wanting anyone to hear me, or at least not clearly. "But I will say his head wasn't attached to his body."

  Her eyes went wide. "We have a serial killer?" Her voice squeaked and I rolled my eyes.

  "Here? In Rockway, Georgia? Please. That's an Atlanta thing. Probably going to be something stupid and boring." Unfortunately, most of the bodies I found were rarely stupid or boring.

  Kadia started to say something when one of the women called for her. As I busied myself restocking muffins and cookies and cleaning up the espresso machine, my mind wandered off, going through the list of dead people.

  I don't talk about the first death, the one I can't forget. That was at twelve. It was the one that drove me to find answers. My brother, Stevie.

  When I was thirteen Mr. Johnson, had a heart attack out walking his dog. I found him but didn't know how to do CPR. He died while I watched. Useless again.

  At fifteen it was a couple that had a car accident while I was home alone. They slammed into the light pole outside the house. I called 911 but they had been killed on impact. Nothing I could have done.

  At least I wasn't alone with the death that happened at sixteen. Our English teacher had a stroke in the middle of class and dropped dead. I was just the only one sane enough to call 911 and the office.

  The year I turned sixteen was a busy. A piano being hoisted into an office building fell on one of the workers, killing him. I had been ten feet away. Being splattered with blood was not fun, but again I called 911.

  At seventeen I found a really weird and creepy death. Guy fell out of the sky on to a picket fence as I walked to school. By then I had my first aid training, but when I touched him, his body was mush. He died as I called for help. Turns out he'd been parachuting and in a freak accident his harness broke, dropping him at my feet. That had been gross. Bone should not be mushy.

  I kept cleaning and restocking, still going over each face, each death in my mind. If I got my degree and my job, would I save enough to erase them from my mind? Would I figure out the reason for the first death? Would it solve anything?

  Too many questions, too many missing answers to things I needed to know. I started back on my list; it had become a habit, a comfort I sank into. When I needed to prove to myself that I hadn't forgotten. That I would never forget him, I went over the deaths. Every time asking myself what I could have done differently. The death at eighteen was the worst. It would have taken a merlin to save him.

  Merlins.

  The word rang in my mind. The hope and bane of most people, everyone wanted to be one. No one wanted to need one. The highest rank magic user there was. They didn't have limits. They could do almost anything. Yet Shay came in regularly like anyone else. Only his ability to annoy me seemed epic in any way.

  Why in the world was this what I was thinking about? My family wasn't magical, at least nothing recent. Family legend, well that went back to Spain centuries ago and only my grandmother even remembered the stories her grandmother had told. But that was of a kid, well before the ruptures that let magic into the world occurred. Besides, grandma died ages ago. So, not like I could ask her.

  Why am I thinking about this? I should be thinking about school next week.

  A flicker of color caught my attention and I glanced up at the TV and everything clicked into place. A news story about the emergence of a new merlin and a recap of the history of the Emergence of Magic. Like anyone who lived today didn't know about magic. It was embedded in our world. The speaker did better than my high school teacher did, making the emergence of magic in the early 1800's sound interesting and exciting. All Mrs. Roulf had ever done was bore us to tears. It took talent to make magic boring. The reporter continued, talking about the various ranks of magic users and reminding people of the laws surrounding mages.

  I pushed the overview of magic out of my mind and finished up my work. The lunch crowd would want stuff to ward off the January cold, if you called high fifties cold. The clatter of the bell had me glancing up in time to see the door fall off its hinges and crash to the ground with a horrendous explosion. I looked up to see Laurel Amosen staring down at the door, the look on her face one of startled shock, a normal reaction. As she looked up at me her face hardened and her uniform echoed her focus, all sharp and crisp.

  Watching Laurel stalk towards me, military dripping off her like water with her short cropped black curly hair and purposeful stride, it became apparent I was the goal. I had no desire to be the goal of the chief of police. She came to a precise halt in front of the counter, mouth opening.

  Before she could say anything, I did. "So, are you going to reimburse Molly for tearing her door off the hinges, Chief Amosen?"

  Chapter 3

  All mages are broken into four groups. The lowest are hedgemages, those with little power. They aren't required to be marked, and many live out their lives without making offerings and rarely use magic at all. Then you have magicians, wizards, archmages, and of course merlins. All of these ranks are part of the draft. ~ History of Magic

  Huh, apparently giving the chief of police attitude isn't a good way to start the conversation. Lesson learned.

  Sitting in the interrogation room, alone and a bit freaked out, I stared at the mirrored glass and tried to keep a smirk on my face. I still thought my comment was funny and if I kept thinking it was funny maybe I wouldn't break down in tears. Too bad Chief Amosen hadn't. Her lack of humor probably contributed to my riding to the station in the back of her squad car and why I now fought worry and fear. I had no idea why I was sitting in the police station.

  After waiting what seemed like forever, at least ten minutes, the chief walked in. This time she flashed me a smile that wasn't completely fake. Her tat glinted at me. Somehow hers was outlined in gold, the Water section a bright yellow. It looked good on her.

  "Your mouth fires off when it really shouldn't," she commented as she sat down in the other chair.

  "Defense mechanism," slipped out and I clamped my mouth shut. The last thing I needed was to tell her anything about my internal woes. She wasn't interested. "So why am I here?"

  She gave me a long look and I shrugged; my conscience was clean. While weird things happened around me, I didn't get in trouble, not really. Last run-in with the cops had been at least three years ago, a high school egging prank.

  "How did you know the victim?" Her voice remained flat and she watched me like she might pull the answers out of my head. I didn't think Water wizards could do that. Not that I had any answers for her to pull out.

  "The who? You mean the dead guy from this morning?" At this point I was lost, what was she talking about?

  "Yes, the man from this morning. How did you know him?"

  My reflection in the mirror showed my jaw hanging open. I snapped my mouth closed and stared at my image as if there might be an answer in my reflection. T
he panicked look in my eyes and the oversized dark grey t-shirt displaying the Grind Down's logo in bright blue, which seemed almost garish under the florescent lights, held no answers.

  "Um, I didn't. I told Samuel that. What's going on?" I resisted scratching my head. White on grey would stand out way too much.

  "You didn't talk to him at Grind Down, run into him at class, hire him to do something?"

  "Not that I know of. I mean I might have served him and not noticed, but I didn't recognize him. Granted, dead you look different." That comment made me swallow as Stevie's image flashed in my mind. Dead, lifeless, looking nothing like how he had just moments before. I pushed the image away; it never changed, so dwelling on it until I had answers was useless.

  "So, you are sure you don't know," she paused glancing down at her notes, "Harold Court Jr?"

  I riffled through my memories, but nothing about the name seemed at all familiar. "I don't think so. Look, Chief Amosen, should I be calling a lawyer or something?" I had no money to pay one. No idea what one would do, but for the first time in a long time I was scared. Why was I here? They had to know I had nothing to do with his death. Didn't they?

  My heart raced as she looked up and locked eyes with me. The camera in the corner exploded in a shower of sparks. We both whipped around to look at it, wisps of smoke rising up from it.

  "What is it with you and crap happening?" Laurel sighed and dropped the badass attitude, which didn't make me feel much better. "For the record, you have never met Harold Court Jr., never hired him, or asked him to do something for you?"

  "For the record, no. I have no blasted idea what you're talking about." I tried not to panic but being in the police station like this was stripping out my bravado quickly. I wanted my own little sad world back. I knew I wouldn't get to keep it for much longer, but while I could, I wanted to hold it close.